


tell me what it is you want

by sunflashes



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, NSFW, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, not-so-loosely based on my actual college life and drinking habits, this is my fucking legacy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-18 03:54:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5897314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflashes/pseuds/sunflashes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anakin is done as <i>fuck</i>. His philosophy professor and academic advisor, Dr. Kenobi, has been working him to the point of breaking, and he just wants to get really, really drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. you've got the luck of a kennedy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littlesnowpea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlesnowpea/gifts).



> this does contain a professor/student relationship, if that isn't your bag i apologize. work title from real by years and years. chapter title from diane young by vampire weekend.

Anakin is done as _fuck_. All he wants is at least four ice cold beers and the jostle and flash of a bar to lose himself in. The Cantina, the second most popular bar on Coruscant University’s campus, will do nicely as his brooding place for the evening. He halfheartedly checks Facebook and Untapped to see if anyone else is headed to the Cantina tonight, and he's slightly pleased to see that Ahsoka is bringing some of her sorority sisters to play pool and one of their mutual friends is tending bar. So this night might not end up being a shitshow after all.

Except it fucking does. The minute Anakin walks into the bar wearing a black button up and kinda feeling himself, he sees the trim figure and neat haircut of the literal cause of his probably-alcoholism: his philosophy professor, Dr. Kenobi.

“It’s a Tuesday,” Dr. Kenobi says, without even turning around. Anakin grits his teeth.

“You know what, you’re here too,” Anakin responds, walking over to lean against the bar to order a drink. He pointedly doesn’t sit down next to Dr. Kenobi.

“Fair enough,” Dr. Kenobi motions for him to sit. Anakin hesitates, and Dr. Kenobi sighs. “Ahsoka is… ah, yes, doing shots with her sorority sisters and you came here alone. Do sit down, Anakin; I don’t bite.”

Anakin, disquieted once again by his professor seemingly reading his mind, sits.

“I’m not going to aggravate either one of us further by insisting on discussing your thesis at a bar. I just thought perhaps that you could use a drink on me.”

Anakin is caught slightly off guard by this. After all, this is the man who has decided to make his life miserable with fuckloads of dense theoretical reading and seemingly inane exercises.

“Um, yeah. That sounds good.”

Dr. Kenobi smiles and motions to the bartender, who turns to face them as if physically pulled. She’s a philosophy minor who Anakin recognizes from some of his intro classes, and she greets Dr. Kenobi with a familiar, “hey, Doc, what can I get ya?”

Dr. Kenobi motions to Anakin, who asks for a gin and tonic. It’s Obi-Wan’s turn to be surprised.

“I’ll have the same, thank you, Aayla.”

“Coming right up!”

Anakin grins; he knows he’s surpassed Obi-Wan’s almost comically low estimation of his taste.

“You thought I’d order some garbage beer or a Trashcan, didn’t you?”

“What in blazes is a Trashcan?” Obi-Wan asks and Anakin’s mouth drops open.

“Aayla,” Anakin says to the bartender as she comes back over and sets their drinks down on the bar. “Doc Kenobi will be having a Trashcan on me next round.”

Aayla grins and says “Definitely. Sounds about right.”

“Wait, Anakin, you still haven’t told me what’s in the bloody thing!” Obi-Wan protests, sliding his card to Aayla to pay for this round. She takes it with a deferential nod.

“You’ll see.” Anakin’s grin can only be classified as shit-eating at this point.

“That does not inspire comfort.”

“It shouldn’t.”

Obi-Wan looks substantially impressed by Anakin’s quick comebacks and Anakin obviously takes this as a personal victory.

“If a student offers to buy me a drink, I’m almost obligated to accept it as I know how very precious your drinking money is to you all.”

“Exactly. Why are we still arguing about this?”

“Fair point, fair point. How are your other classes going, Anakin?”

Talking to Obi-Wan out of class is… surprisingly easy. There's a gentle sort of repartee between them and Anakin is delighted to discover that prim and proper Doctor Kenobi is rather an avid lover of David Bowie. They discuss his discography and deep cuts and B-sides and Anakin laughs more than he thought he would. Obi-Wan has a lot of interesting anecdotes that he probably doesn’t deem class-appropriate, but that he doesn’t have any compunctions about telling Anakin here in this less formal setting. As they finish their drinks, Obi-Wan excuses himself to presumably the restroom. Anakin takes this opportunity to secure their Trashcans from Aayla and check his phone.

3 texts from Padmé, a Snapchat from Ahsoka.

 **Padmé:** omg are u with kenobi right now

 **Padmé:** i passed the cantina and saw you through the window (followed by 3 crying-laughing emojis)

 **Padmé:** totally saw this coming

Ahsoka’s Snapchat is a creepily zoomed-in shot from across the bar of Anakin listening in what seems like almost rapture to Obi-Wan as the latter gestures and lands the end of a story. Snapchat-Anakin laughs, looking truly amused. Anakin lets the timer run out and smiles a little to himself.

Obi-Wan returns to his seat and looks mildly horrified at the blue beverage that now sits where his empty glass had been.

“Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.” Anakin jibes.

“It looks exactly that bad.”

“All right, fine, I’ll try mine so you’re certain it’s not pure swamp-rat poison.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t look comforted by this in the slightest, but he sits back down all the same as Anakin slugs a sip back. It’s sugary, disgusting, perfect.

“Your turn.”

Obi-Wan picks up the plastic cup as though handling something toxic and gingerly takes a sip, focus entirely on the blue liquid. He doesn’t realize that Anakin is not-so-subtly taking a Snapchat video of him.

“Fuck, that is vile.” He looks up from the cup and sees Anakin with his phone camera trained on him, and the look on his face is absolutely priceless. Anakin has never heard him swear before and immediately laughs in delight. He hits video limit at this point and Obi-Wan looks thoroughly displeased by the entire past thirty seconds.

“Delete that immediately,” Obi-Wan says, and Anakin shakes his head.

“No way. Not unless you drink more.”

Obi-Wan sighs like he’s been asked to take on a budget meeting, but acquiesces. Anakin covertly saves the Snap to his camera roll and then makes a big show of showing Obi-Wan that he’s deleting it.

After two trashcans, Obi-Wan is even less buttoned-up and stuffy. Anakin is delighted, not only at this prospect, but also at the pure fact that he managed to get him to drink not just one, but two of the blue monstrosities. He laughs off Anakin’s suggestion of karaoke good-naturedly, knowing he never meant it as anything but a joke. They drain the last of the sludge from their cups and Obi-Wan laughs at Anakin’s blue-stained tongue.

“I think you’ve got a little something…” Obi-Wan points to his own general mouth area and devolves into laughter again.

“Everywhere, probably. And I am sorry, but I gotta have a cigarette. I’m at that drunk point.”

“I suppose. Would you like me to walk you home?”

If Anakin were less drunk, he would have positively scoffed, but Obi-Wan is so earnest in his asking that he acquiesces immediately.

“I… yeah, that would be really nice of you. I’d appreciate it.”

Obi-Wan closes his tab with Aayla and Anakin moves to close his when she tells him “it’s already been taken care of, Ani.”

Anakin turns to look at Obi-Wan, shocked and seemingly a little upset.

“I was gonna…”

“I know you were. I beat you to it, I think.” It’s Obi-Wan’s turn to grin smugly.

“I’ll get you back someday. I will.” Anakin pushes in his barstool and says resolutely.

“I don’t doubt that, Anakin.”

Suddenly Anakin is not sure they’re talking about owing drinks anymore. He’s acutely aware of how badly he needs a cigarette. They leave the Cantina in the lull between the early-evening drinkers and the midnight-arriving-having-already-pregamed frat boys and girls in six inch heels. Anakin lights a cigarette and takes a few drags, purposefully trying to blow his smoke over the shoulder on the opposite side from Obi-Wan. They walk toward the Philosophy House, which is tucked in front of the dorms on a sidestreet that’s precisely halfway between the bar and Obi-Wan’s apartment building.

“Thank you again,” Anakin’s voice is soft.

“Don’t mention it. You’ve already put in hard work enough for several more nights of drinks on me and you’ll be putting even more into your thesis.”

“I will,” Anakin promises, smoke trickling from his lips and making his voice thick and clotted before he exhales fully. They’ve reached the front walk of the house and most of the lights are off. Anakin moves to go up on the porch, but realizes he’s still smoking.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry, do you want one?” He offers.

Obi-Wan smiles in a way that makes Anakin wonder exactly what the fuck he’s thinking. He takes a drag as Obi-Wan speaks.

“Oh, I never smoke.”

Abruptly, Obi-Wan reaches forward and pulls Anakin in by the shirt collar, expecting the surprised exhale, and shotguns the smoke from his mouth, their lips so close Anakin can feel the heat exchange. Just as quickly, Obi-Wan steps back, blows the smoke through pursed lips, and grins widely. Anakin’s mouth is still slightly open and he can actually feel his blush spreading.

“I’ll see you in class tomorrow, Skywalker.” Obi-Wan turns and begins the rest of his walk home, leaving Anakin standing rooted to the sidewalk, nerves singing and head spinning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a trashcan is a real thing my friends. they serve it on my campus and it's super gross but really delicious and features like six kinds of high proof alcohol and some blue curacao and a literal can of red bull. plz drink responsibly.


	2. not shy of a spark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Anakin…” Padmé says, brow furrowed as though she's about to give him a serious speech on the ethics of this. “We have to get the two of you alone together somehow.” 
> 
> “That was not at all where I thought you were going with that sentence.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shotgunning a cigarette is not the same as shotgunning a beer. that being said, there will be slightly more heat, if you will, in the next chapter.
> 
> chapter title from 505 by arctic monkeys

“How the FUCK are you supposed to go to his class in an hour?!” Padmé crows, waving her forkful of Caesar salad emphatically. 

“Fuck if I know, honestly,” Anakin says, bereft, into his coffee. 

“You're his TA, oh my god,  _ Anakin. _ ” 

“I knowwwwww.” Anakin’s mutter is low and barely audible. 

“What did you do?” Ahsoka asks brightly--too brightly for someone who spent the previous night doing shots with the Rogue Squadron--as she alights gracefully at Anakin and Padmé’s table. Padmé stops looking at Anakin like he's an unstable explosive and instead settles her eyes on Ahsoka, face lighting up. 

“Where have you been all week?” She asks, salad now entirely forgotten.

“It's only Wednesday! I've been around,” Ahsoka pretends to be embarrassed but is actually quite mollified by Padmé having noticed her absence. “I've had sorority garbage, I'm sorry, but I'm all yours now.” 

Padmé blushes. ‘All yours,’  _ honestly _ .

“She's been yelling at me,” Anakin mumbles.

“I reiterate, what did you do?” Ahsoka retorts evenly, pouring the soy sauce for her sushi into the lid of the sushi box. 

“I didn't do anything!” Anakin sets down his coffee indignantly. “Obi-Wan--” and he stops himself right there because his big mouth has already given him away.

“Since when are you on a first name basis?” Ahsoka smirks and picks up a piece of salmon with her chopsticks. 

“And more importantly, what did he do?” Padmé chimes in. Anakin drops his facade of righteous indignation, knowing full well that a) nothing gets past his two best friends, they're not idiots, and b) that he was never going to deprive them of this story. 

“Okay, all right, we were walking back from the bar and I was drunk-smoking, as you do, and he walked me back to the House and--” 

Ahsoka makes a muffled noise around a mouthful of sushi. 

“--Oh, that isn't even like. The thing.”

It’s Padmé's turn to look intrigued and motion for him to get the fuck on with it. 

“I asked him if he wanted a cigarette and he said, deadpan, ‘I never smoke,’ and then he like, hauled me forward and shotgunned my drag.” 

“Can you translate that into basic English for the rest of the class?” Padmé looks quizzical. 

“He… Fuck, this is weird to explain.” Anakin pauses. 

“Oh, for the love of fuck, dude, you're killing us here,” Ahsoka jabs him with a chopstick. 

“Keep your hair on, Snips, I'm trying to figure out how to word this so you two don't freak the fuck out,” Anakin pulls at one of her dreads in return and she fixes him with the ‘really, white boy?’ look that used to terrify him. “Shotgunning is when you take a drag of whatever you're smoking and basically blow it out into someone else's mouth.”

“Did he… kiss you?” Padmé asks slowly. 

“I mean, no, but like, for it to be effective you have to be pretty damn close,” Anakin flushes as he explains. 

“But you  _ want _ him to kiss you,” Ahsoka supplies. 

“Snips, I'm his TA.”

“That’s not a ‘no,’ though,” Ahsoka grins and pops a piece of sushi into her mouth. 

“Anakin…” Padmé says, brow furrowed as though she's about to give him a serious speech on the ethics of this. “We have to get the two of you alone together somehow.”

“That was not at all where I thought you were going with that sentence.” 

“I'm full of surprises, Ani. That's why you love me.” 

“True,” Anakin smiles fondly. “If only we were straight.” 

Ahsoka is silently grateful that her dark skin hides her blush. She hadn't known this about Padmé. 

“If only.” Padmé says with an air of fake wistfulness. 

“But really, though,” Ahsoka cuts in. “This is absolutely happening. We gotta make this happen.”

“Dude, I'm his TA in like, half an hour--” Anakin protests, to no avail. Padmé and Ahsoka have already begun scheming.

Anakin sips his coffee silently as the women laugh and ruminates on how ridiculous his life is.

\---

The students of the mid-level ethics class (yes, Anakin is fully going to hell for thinking of Obi-Wan this way during an  _ ethics _ class,  _ honestly _ ) are about to take a quiz, and Obi-Wan debriefs them on its format. 

“This should take you no more than ten minutes, and when you finish, turn in your papers to Mr. Skywalker.” 

Anakin snorts audibly and immediately regrets being born. ‘Mr. Skywalker’ just sounded like a complete and utter joke. Obi-Wan shoots him a sharp look that he almost feels make contact. 

“You may begin.” Obi-Wan flicks open the projector cap and the quiz questions are shown on the screen for the students. Obi-Wan comes to sit down at the desk in the front of the room, next to Anakin, and Anakin is in at least seven different kinds of distress. 

“I--”

“No need for apologies, Mr. Skywalker. Do try to restrain your impulses in the classroom in the future.” With that, Obi-Wan turns to his lesson plan and annotates precisely and minutely for the rest of the allotted quiz period. Anakin fumes. When time is up, Anakin has the students pass the quiz to the end of each row of desks and collects them there. He returns to his seat at the head desk as Obi-Wan rises, straightens the bottom hem of his sweater, and begins to lecture.

Obi-Wan is one of those people who was just born to teach.  Anakin slowly relaxes by degrees to the warm sound of his voice, even though he’s just going over the fairly rudimentary basics of Kant and his Imperative. He just has a  _ way _ \--and Anakin has always thought this, even without any sort of romantic interest in mind--of engaging his students without making them feel like idiots and without the usual professorial attitudes. Obi-Wan doesn’t fit anywhere on the sliding scale of “I’m your prof but also your friend, bruh” to “address me as Dr. Mr. Last Name Esquire and Please Do Not so much as chew gum in my class or even think about asking me for help.” He is such a naturally kind, empathetic person that he treats his students as complete equals, only exercising a stern air when absolutely necessary. He’s the type of person that students open up to, and his office hours are usually well booked up with students that are looking for career advice or even just looking to shoot the shit. And Obi-Wan loves them. Every single one of them. Even the troublemakers and people who just don’t apply themselves enough to be as good at school as their intelligence should allow. 

It’s now, right now, seeing Obi-Wan haloed by the warm light through the window, eyes alight and smiling as he calls on a young woman who usually doesn’t speak in class, that Anakin feels something warm unfurl in his stomach and recognizes it as  _ aching _ fondness. He will never admit this to Ahsoka, he just can’t, but this might be more than just the frisson of almost-contact between their lips as he exhaled. This might be something real.  _ Fuck _ . 

He waits for Obi-Wan to dismiss the class and waits more while Obi-Wan gathers up his papers, pushing the sleeves of his wooly sweater up to his elbows. 

“Do I have you this hour,” Obi-Wan asks without asking. His mouth is talking about Anakin’s thesis meeting but his eyes are not.

“You know you do.” Anakin surprises even himself with the repartee. He’s… nervous? Which is strange, but not exactly unpleasant.

“Do follow, then,” Obi-Wan motions to him, and they leave the classroom in swift retreat to Obi-Wan’s office. It’s a quaint room, painted a quiet sage green and absolutely deluged by books.

“I must apologize,” Obi-Wan begins as they sit down across from each other, Obi-Wan’s desk a very,  _ very _ present reminder of the boundary between them. “I was attempting to inspire the class to accord you some respect while at the same time taking into account our newfound informality. I really am very sorry if I offended you--”

“No, no, oh my god,” Anakin cuts in, too mortified to let Obi-Wan keep talking. “I’m so sorry about that, it’s just, no one’s ever called me by any sort of honorific before and I just, nervous laughter, I don’t know.”

“I understand,” Obi-Wan says, smiling and nodding sagely. “Unfortunate timing, however.”

“I pretty much specialize in unfortunate timing,” Anakin laughs.

“I’ve noticed that it does seem to be your strong suit,” Obi-Wan agrees good-naturedly. “At any rate, I do just want to clarify that we do have to maintain a degree of formality in the classroom regardless of our interactions outside of it. That being said, I did have a rather wonderful time last night.”

“I did too, definitely,” Anakin smiles and sits back in his chair.

“Then perhaps we should do it again?”

“Absolutely, I would love that. Maybe we could even grade papers over dinner.”

“That sounds… really refreshing. I think that could work very well. Tomorrow night?” Obi-Wan smiles as well.

“Sure, that would be great,” Anakin’s heart is hammering so hard he can feel it in his fingertips.

“Then tomorrow it shall be. Now, about your independent study…”

Anakin nods along, not really listening. He’s going to have a hard time hiding his excitement for tomorrow and maintaining his professionalism. Obi-Wan presses on and Anakin eventually falls into intellectual step with him, responding with thoughtful remarks and taking diligent notes on his tablet. Obi-Wan always did bring out the Good Student in him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me [in my trash can](http://www.blowmewankenobi.tumblr.com) if you feel like it


	3. this beat's made for two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After agonizing over whether or not to bring a folder for the quizzes and Padmé literally kicking him out the door via a foot against his actual ass, Anakin is on his way to the paper-grading not-date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from heart out by the 1975.

“I think we’re looking at this too literally,” Ahsoka ruminates, clutching her wine glass as she perches on Anakin’s bed. 

“I think you’re right,” Padmé agrees, finishing pouring her glass of Merlot. “This isn’t even an “is-it-or-isn’t-it-a-date” thing because they can’t date, especially because of the thesis thing. That aside, I think the question is, is he going to try anything? Are  _ you _ going to try anything?” She directs the last part of the question at Anakin, who is knee-deep in a massive pile of clothes in various shades of black.

“Fuck if I know; I have to figure out what I’m gonna wear first before I get to that point.”

“Only you would have a problem putting an outfit together when everything you own is black.”

“Shut it, Snips-- When was the last time you had a… an evening meeting with your professor?”

“You’re soooooooo special,” Ahsoka drawls, sipping her wine leisurely and reclining back onto Anakin’s bed.

“No, but seriously, what do I wear? You’re girls, you should be good at this stuff,” Anakin holds up two almost identical black v-necked t-shirts.

“By that logic, you’re gay, so you should be better at it,” Padmé says acidly, coolly regarding him from where she sits curled on his bed where it’s in the corner of two walls.

“Fuck, you’re right. I’m an asshole, I’m sorry. Gender is a social construct, I know this.”

“Think twice before you stereotype and cross the street, Skyguy,” Ahsoka kicks her leg out and makes contact with his calf, prodding him with her toes.

“There’s like no excuse for that, I’m sorry.”

“Just keep catching yourself,” Padmé cautions gently, no longer maintaining her stern air. “At any rate, I think you should wear that dark green thing you wore to the fundraiser.”

“Oh, wait, yes, I like that,” Anakin starts up excitedly, extracting himself from the pile and stumbling over to his dresser. He opens his sweater drawer and pulls out a dark olive green cowl-necked sweater.

“Yes,” Padmé and Ahsoka say in unison before he even has a chance to put it on.

“You think?” Anakin holds it up to his body.

“Fucking absolutely,” Ahsoka says, draining her glass and rising to pour more. “Want some more wine, Padmé?”

“I would just love some,” Padmé smiles brightly. Ahsoka can’t help but return the smile; it’s infectious.  Padmé is one of those few people who can make Ahsoka smile on her very worst days.  Today doesn’t even vaguely qualify as one of them, but she never misses a chance to appreciate Padmé’s facial expressions.

As Ahsoka pours the wine, Anakin puts his iPod into the Bose dock he has, clicking the wheel around and selecting something ambient. The lyrics flood the room as he strips from the waist up, slides the sweater on, and fixes his hair.  _ “I had a dream that when I woke up, you were finally there…” _

The song is soft and plaintive and Padmé dips her head, shifting her hair slightly more into her face. The song hits that raw place in her, the place that watches the way Ahsoka’s throat moves as she swallows.  _ “I try to keep between the lines and out of sight, and when I looked beside me where you should have been, I started drifting…” _

It’s Ahsoka who gets up abruptly and switches the song while Anakin is obliviously, painstakingly trying to tame his curls in the mirror. The next song is a fucking jam, and all three of them instantly react with wide smiles and little dancing motions.  _ “I'm on that late night come and get, I'm on that ripped jeans cigarette…” _

“Do I look okay?” Anakin asks, just so  _ earnestly _ .

“Aw, you  _ really _ like him. Once I saw you pull a shirt out of the Philosophy House fridge that you left there when you were drunk and wear it to class. This is effort, Anakin.” Ahsoka extends her pinky, takes a sip of her wine, and smacks her lips.

“SHUT UP,” Anakin yells and drags his hands down his face.  

\---

After agonizing over whether or not to bring a folder for the quizzes and Padmé literally kicking him out the door via a foot against his actual ass, Anakin is on his way to the paper-grading not-date. 

He’s doing that last preliminary check of himself in the windows of the empty storefront next to the restaurant when he sees Obi-Wan already inside. He’s reading a book at the table alone, and when the waiter asks him presumably what he’d like to drink, Anakin sees the title as he closes it.  _ Love in the Time of Cholera _ , one of his favorites. A strand of hair falls into Obi-Wan’s face as the waiter walks away. He brushes it out of the way and continues reading. Anakin is captivated. He wants to go in there and tell him about how he had needed Ahsoka and Padmé’s help picking out a goddamn sweater because he likes him so damn much. He wants to tell him that an ex, the Big Ex, gave him  _ Love in the Time of Cholera _ and it had moved him so much that when they broke up, he claimed he couldn’t find the book when they were doing the ceremonial returning of possessions. He had it the whole time, in the innermost pocket of his messenger bag. He still has the copy and it is by far the most well-worn of all his books. He wants to tell Obi-Wan about the passages he’s cried over, underlined, he wants to tell him that he’s too good to be true and his choice of literature just goes to prove that point, he  _ wants _ .

Anakin squares his shoulders and walks toward the door, unsure of exactly what he’s going to say when he gets inside the restaurant, but he is seized with the need to say  _ something _ .

“Hi,” Anakin kind of chokes as he approaches Obi-Wan’s table. Obi-Wan looks up at him, clearly dragging himself out of the narrative, and smiles. Anakin is so fucking utterly fucking fucked.

“Hi, please, sit,” Obi-Wan motions, sliding his book to the side and simultaneously dog-earing a page of it.

“That’s a good book,” Anakin says and regrets everything he’s ever said instantaneously and simultaneously.

“You’ve read it?” Obi-Wan has once again lowballed Anakin’s taste.

“It’s actually my favorite book,” Anakin says sheepishly.

“God, isn’t it gorgeous,” Obi-Wan says with fervor, and Anakin’s toes curl with holding back the knee-jerk response of “yeah, you are.”

“Definitely. I’ve read it about a million times.”

The waiter deftly picks up on the pause in conversation and drops off two waters and two gin and tonics to their table. He asks if they need a minute, and they certainly do, as Anakin hasn’t even picked up a menu yet.

“I’m beginning to think I’m predictable,” Anakin muses as he flips through the menu.

“And why’s that?” Obi-Wan responds with a note of humor in his tone that suggests he knows what’s coming.

“I don’t exclusively drink gin and tonics, you know,” Anakin mock-pouts.

“To be fair, it’s the only thing I’ve ever seen you drink that wasn’t a… god, I cannot believe this word is about to leave my mouth and I equally cannot believe that the heinous beverage in question has ever entered it… a Trashcan.”

Anakin laughs as he sips his drink, creating a nice little burning sensation in the back of his throat.

“I mean, you’re right, but I think you’re drawing the wrong conclusion from the available data.”

“And what’s the right conclusion?” Obi-Wan’s tone shifts into mild flirtation, or at least Anakin thinks that’s what it is.

“We haven’t done enough drinking together.”

Obi-Wan laughs, spontaneous, genuine, and sweet.

“You know what, I think you’re right. Well then, here’s to the second and hopefully not last time we’ve done this.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Anakin clinks their glasses together and they both take a sip. The waiter returns and they both order. While they wait for their food, they get started with grading and fall into an easy step of organizing graded papers from A to F on the table. Miraculously, there are no Fs or Ds; this is already moving quickly and looking promising. They both use red pens and Anakin finds that Obi-Wan gives a lot more personalized commentary than he would have thought on each quiz, taking the time to write encouragements in the margins. This makes Anakin focus even harder on grading, as a sweep of fondness reddens his cheeks.

Their food arrives, and it is excellent--a huge step up from dining hall cuisine for Anakin. They bicker over the check, Anakin attempting to charm Obi-Wan with the “my money is precious and I clearly really want to treat for this if I’m even offering” routine, and Obi-Wan is having exactly none of Anakin’s shit as per usual. He ends up literally snatching the check out of Anakin’s hands when he’s distracted and his grip loosens.

“Then you have to let me pay for the first round at the bar.”

“Absolutely not,” Obi-Wan says smoothly, not looking as he slips his card into the check holder. His eyes are on Anakin and they’re lit with something warm. Anakin can barely hold his gaze.

“I’m gonna find a way,” Anakin repartees as the waiter swings by and picks up an armful of dishes and their check with a warm thank-you.

“If I let that happen, I wouldn’t be a very good date, now, would I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songs played by anakin, ahsoka and padme while they get anakin ready are, in order, drifting by on an on and braveheart by neon jungle. (low key does anyone want a playlist of all the songs i've been using for this au? cause i can make that happen on spotify)
> 
> lol sorry not sorry for the cliffhanger; the rest of their not-date-but-totally-date is already mapped out but would have made this chapter way too long. yes i am stringing you along, this is a thing that is happening, but expect things to get interesting come the next update. :D
> 
> also because i am legitimately an enormous fucking idiot, here is [the sweater anakin wore](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/e6/6c/99/e66c9983121405dc03ae165bbd34d7ee.jpg) on their totally-actual-date and here is an extra bonus pic of [what obi wan wore](http://41.media.tumblr.com/5f5d14fb19cdd07aae9b516db59e80c8/tumblr_ntozoaNrR31tnv7smo1_400.jpg) (yeah, it's ewan mcgregor wearing the outfit, get psyched). 
> 
> now i must truly bounce. prepare ur bodies for the next chapter kittens


	4. and i'll say i'm sorry if i sound sordid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is this supposed to make me feel better?”
> 
> “Wait, I haven’t even said it yet, the pepper thing on Rate My Professor is a chili pepper for ‘hotness.’” Anakin does the stupid quote bunnies with his hands and instantly regrets it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to [Kami](http://archiveofourown.org/users/littlesnowpea) for being the light of my life and my very own personal cheerleader, as well as [AayalaMaro](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AayalaMaro/pseuds/AayalaMaro) for jumpstarting my dumb ass to write more of this. 
> 
> (title from hourglass by catfish and the bottlemen)

Anakin tries not to let the entirety of his focus zero in on the word _date_. He can feel his cheeks heating up as they leave the restaurant, Cantina-bound. It’s against at least one major rule in the university handbook for this to be a date, Anakin knows this. Obi-Wan meant it colloquially. It’s a common expression.

“I meant what I said,” Obi-Wan speaks again. 

“What.” The word slips out, and it’s not a question. Anakin stops in the middle of the sidewalk. Obi-Wan stops as well and regards Anakin with an inscrutable expression on his face. 

“That I’m not going to let you pay for drinks at the Cantina?” Obi-Wan says slowly, as though he’s not really sure what part of the conversation was too difficult for Anakin to understand. 

“Oh,” Anakin hears his own voice as though someone else is talking. It takes effort to snap himself back into it. “Right. That’s really too nice of you, though.” 

“Nonsense.” Obi-Wan scoffs and starts walking again. “Did you want me to put the quizzes in my bag?” 

“Oh, shit. Yeah, I didn’t bring a bag or anything.” Anakin hands over the folder (a tasteful matte black, picked out of all the other black folders on his desk by Padme) and Obi-Wan flips back the top of his beat-up leather messenger bag and slides it into the main compartment. In there is the book, that damn copy of Love in the Time of Cholera, and Anakin is in _hell_. 

“I do enjoy a small campus sometimes,” Obi-Wan muses as he opens the Cantina door for Anakin. 

“It does make things easier,” Anakin replies as breezily as he can while scanning the bar for people who could potentially embarrass him in front of Obi-Wan. Lo and behold, Ahsoka is across the bar, dressed in something that surely belongs to Padmé and wearing more makeup than he’s ever seen her wear in the entire time he’s known her. She looks different but amazing, and Anakin is certain that she finally let Padmé give her a long-awaited makeover. Padmé is next to her, drinking presumably a vodka cranberry and looking unfairly pretty in a way that she usually reserves for dates-- not to spy on a friend’s not-date with his professor. 

“Are you feeling beer, wine, or something a little stronger?” Obi-Wan inquires, peering at the slightly wet paper menu on the bar with mild distaste. Anakin is fairly sure the only reason they keep coming back here is because it’s the only affordable bar that fosters a nice mix of both students and faculty. He thinks fleetingly that maybe if Obi-Wan had his way, they’d go to 1707--the expensive restaurant across the street--and order nothing but scotch. If Anakin had his way, they would certainly not go to a bar. He realizes then that he hasn’t answered and crashes back to reality sharply. 

“Fuck, sorry. I’m thinking let’s start with a shot and a beer, yeah?” 

“That was a definite part of my thrice-weekly ritual in graduate school. I can get behind that.” Obi-Wan nods his approval as Aayla the bartender makes her presence known. She asks if they have a preference for either alcohol and Obi-Wan tells her he trusts her not to disappoint. She smiles, obviously gratified, and tells him she’s on it.

“Well, I’m certainly pleased with this crop of quizzes,” Obi-Wan actually, honestly, really strokes his beard. Anakin thinks he might pass out. He’s not sure whether he wants to laugh or run away from the fondness making his stomach tingly and light. 

“Not a single F.” He manages. 

“I’m beginning to think they’re actually listening to me,” Obi-Wan laughs. 

“How could anyone not listen to you?” Anakin says before he realizes how it sounds. He really fucking needs to curb his mouth tonight. Obi-Wan is silent, which is even more confusing as to what Anakin should do or say next. “You’ve got this way of framing things that makes them fit neatly into the larger picture and still keeps them interesting. Students really like you. Have you seen your scores on Rate My Professor?” Anakin is extremely proud of himself for ending his embarrassing diatribe with a joke. 

“That is really too charitable of you, thank you. Not to be crass, but what in blazes is Rate Your Professor?” 

“First a Trashcan, now this?” Anakin says, fake-exasperated, and grins while pulling out his phone. He Googles “kenobi rate my prof” and pulls up the correct result. Obi-Wan leans toward the small screen flipped towards him, squinting his eyes slightly. Anakin can see the red marks on the bridge of Obi-Wan nose from where glasses rested during his day. He spends the time it takes Obi-Wan to read what’s on his phone ruminating on the idea of Obi-Wan in glasses. Obi-Wan laughs sharply, as though pleasantly surprised by something funny on the page. 

“These reviews are quite something. The poor grammar in some of them just enhances their overall impact. Now, what is this small pepper-looking thing?”

Aayla interrupts them at this exact juncture with their shots and beers and Anakin has never been more grateful for alcohol in his life. He drops the shot in the beer, clinks his glass against Obi-Wan’s, and chugs hard. Aayla had chosen mid-range whiskey and some absolutely phenomenal craft beer. Anakin looks over, one last gulp left in his glass, and Obi-Wan is slamming his glass back down on the bar, completely empty. Obi-Wan exhales in a sharp “hhhhhahhh” commonly associated with hard liquor as Anakin nearly chokes in surprise. 

“Excuse you,” Anakin coughs as he finishes his glass and clunks it down hard on the bar. “No one told me I was drinking with a fucking champion!”

Obi-Wan opens his mouth to issue a snappy response and, to Anakin’s sheer giddy delight, belches. Obi-Wan claps his hands over his mouth and flushes deeply. 

“Oh, don’t be like that! At least you didn’t barf!” Anakin manages through borderline-hysterical laughter. 

“I was going to say I’ve still got it, but I think my credibility is shot at this point.” Obi-Wan finally retorts, still rather pink in the face. 

“I wasn’t gonna say anything, but you’ve shared something really deeply personal with me just now…” Anakin trails off for pure dramatic effect and Obi-Wan hits his head against the bar for the same reason. 

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?”

“Wait, I haven’t even said it yet, the pepper thing on Rate My Professor is a chili pepper for ‘hotness.’” Anakin does the stupid quote bunnies with his hands and instantly regrets it. 

Obi-Wan raises his head from the bar and starts laughing deeply. 

“No,” He manages. “You’ve got to be joking, that website absolutely does not rate professors on hotness.” 

Anakin does a mock-Boy-Scout salute. 

“They sure fuckin’ do.” 

“Give me your phone. I need to know what my hotness rating is.”

Anakin laughs through unlocking it and hands it over. Obi-Wan studies the page thoughtfully and abruptly motions for Aayla to bring another round. 

“That bad, huh?” Anakin is sympathetic, having never read the page himself as Rate My Professor is a little passe on college campuses these days. 

“On the contrary,” Obi-Wan says fake-lightly, handing Anakin’s phone back. Anakin can’t help but look--every review has a chili pepper. Every single one. Aayla places the drinks down on the bar and they both wordlessly toss back a mouthful. Neither of them is chugging this one, opting instead to swig it like a normal beer. 

“This has certainly been an interesting night,” Obi-Wan grins and there’s a small dot of beer foam on the tip of his nose. The lights above the bar are neon signs that flash different colors onto his face. Anakin reaches out and brushes the foam off in a reflex motion. Obi-Wan’s face is warm against the brief contact. Obi-Wan starts a little. 

“You had some beer on your nose.” 

“Oh, I see. It usually collects on the facial hair,” he chuckles weakly. Is Anakin interpreting this right as a bit of a fluster? They both chug about half of their drinks and this time Obi-Wan curls his sweater sleeve over his hand and wipes just above the corner of Anakin’s mouth. “Your turn, I suppose.” 

“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in a game of air hockey?” Anakin asks, desperate for a distraction. 

“You know, I think I just might be.” Obi-Wan stands up and allows Anakin to lead the way through the mostly empty bar to the air hockey table. They set their drinks down on a nearby surface and Anakin flicks a quarter into the table’s slot. 

“Air hockey’s on me tonight.” 

“That I can agree to,” Obi-Wan says, pushing the sleeves of his sweater up and grabbing his goalie mallet. 

They play politely at first, but by the third game and third beer, they’re locked in a fierce rivalry. A few people are too scared to properly crowd around them, but they are definitely watching the gameplay. After the fourth game, Obi-Wan blatantly calls them out on it and invites them to come stand around and watch. Anakin is a little mortified until the students prove themselves to be total good sports, appropriately quiet during tense moments and getting excited when either one of them scores. The crowd grows as they drink and play. There’s about thirty people there for game number nine, in which Obi-Wan scores an incredible Hail Mary shot that about twelve of these students are almost certainly Snapchatting. Obi-Wan drops his paddle on the table and raises both fists in the air, shouting FUCK YES among the various whooping and hollering of the students. 

Anakin does what any good opponent would do and claps along, not giving a single fuck about losing. He’s never had this much fun with a non-Ahsoka-and-Padme friend, let alone a professor. He steps forward to shake Obi-Wan’s hand as an endgame formality, and Obi-Wan pulls him into a quick, fierce hug. He lets him go and Anakin reels. He smelled like spicy cologne and craft beer breath and Anakin--

“I think I could use a cigarette,” Obi-Wan says to him as the crowd disperses. Anakin nods, signalling that he’s going to use the restroom first. 

“I’ll meet you out front when I’m done.” Anakin replies and Obi-Wan gives him the thumbs up. 

Anakin equally divides his time in the bathroom between doing his business, briefly attempting to fix his hair, and dazedly laughing to himself that this isn’t happening. This whole evening has to be some sort of fever dream. 

Obi-Wan is waiting for him outside the bar, and Anakin fumbles for his pack of cigarettes as they walk. 

“That’s the most fun I’ve had in awhile,” Obi-Wan says as Anakin hands him a cigarette and his lighter. “Thanks,” he adds, holding up the lighter. 

“No problem. Thank you, though, for dinner and drinks. I’ve genuinely never had more fun as a TA.” Anakin accepts the lighter back and lights his own cigarette, shielded by a cupped palm. 

“I’ve never had a more fun TA.” Obi-Wan counters and blows smoke out in just a really, really fucking sexy way. 

“And we’ve only just begun in terms of dumb shit we can do while drinking,” Anakin muses, thinking of drunk darts at the brewery tucked away on a side street off the main drag. This time, it’s Obi-Wan whose pace falters. 

“What exactly do you mean by that?” He asks as he catches up to the step he’d missed. 

“There’s this brewery a few blocks from here that you can play darts at and their beer is legendary.” Anakin clarifies, wondering if this is a repeat of earlier. Wondering if he’s misreading all of this terribly. Wondering just how drunk they both are. 

“That does sound very appealing,” Obi-Wan nods. 

“I think that should be our destination for exam grading and post-grading drinks, yeah?” 

“I’d like that,” Obi-Wan obliviously uses the ubiquitous rom-com phrase with wanton disregard for Anakin’s heart rate. 

“Since you walked me home last time it’s only fitting that I do so for you this time,” Anakin ventures.

“If that would soothe your sensibilities,” Obi-Wan agrees, and flicks his cigarette butt into a lingering street puddle. Anakin follows suit. 

“Sure, that.” Anakin laughs. They approach a rather pretty ivy-covered two-flat and Obi-Wan abruptly turns onto its walkway.

“I’m the downstairs flat,” he says by way of explanation, and Anakin surveys the building. It’s rather charming. 

“It’s nice, I like it.” 

“Thank you. And thank you for walking me home, needless though it was.” 

“It was my pleasure. I believe you owe me some quizzes?” Anakin says, trying to drag out their interaction for as long as possible. He is very much enjoying being intoxicated in the presence of such an intoxicating person. 

“The folder seems to be stuck in a larger document,” Obi-Wan says after a few seconds of struggling with the contents of his bag. “And I’d rather struggle with this beastly bag inside, if you wouldn’t mind?” 

Anakin can only follow numbly. This is fucking happening. He’s drunk, but not _that_ drunk. This is fucking actually happening. He knows this can’t be a pretense. He knows that all Obi-Wan wants is to set his messenger bag down on a table and rummage through it for a folder, but he can’t control the slightly tipsy electric thrill of this. 

Obi-Wan unlocks a tasteful dark wood door up a set of three steps to the first floor. Anakin braces himself for an onslaught of boundary-crossing feelings as he looks into the apartment. The floors are hardwood, the ceiling is high, and the walls are an appealing fawny light brown. Taupe? Tan? Anakin has never seen a neutral color he liked as much as this one. The entry hall leads into an open-plan living room and dining room, which are the same appealing light brown. A retro, 1950s diner-y red formica and chromed metal table sits in the dining room, holding a few short stacks of thick books, various tchotchkes, and an immensely fat cat. In the living room, an extremely cozy looking couch set faces a nice sized TV ensconced in a dark wood entertainment center. A poster for a boxing match between two men named Warhol and Basquiat (wait, isn’t Warhol an artist?), a few really cool art deco advertisements from the 1920s, and what looks like a fleecy shelf decorate the walls. 

“This place is awesome,” Anakin ventures weakly, not at all conveying the sincerity he feels behind the statement. 

“Thank you very much,” Obi-Wan says, distracted, already rummaging in the bag.

“The fleecy… shelf… thing. What is that?” Anakin asks. 

“Oh,” Obi-Wan looks up, sheepish. “That’s a cat perch.” 

“For the one on the table?” Anakin asks, trying not to sound too doubtful. “Is that the only cat you have? What’s its name?” 

“So many questions,” Obi-Wan says, obviously biting back laughter. “Sometimes it is for him, although I do have two cats. His name--” he says, pointing toward the one on the other side of the table, “--is Eggs Benedict. The other one, who is extremely shy and is probably hiding under my bed or the couch, is Margot.” 

“Awwww,” Anakin can’t stop himself from cooing a bit as Eggs Benedict approaches him. He is one of those squishy faced persian cats, with an entirely flat profile. He is fat and orange, with medium-length fur, and incredibly soft. Anakin sinks his fingers into the cat’s coat and Eggs Benedict purrs. 

“Eggs is very friendly, feel free to cuddle him all you like,” Obi-Wan smiles, having abandoned his bag search in favor of watching Anakin pet his cat. “Margot is all white with blue eyes and she is a rare sight. Legend goes that she moves like a ghost from hiding spot to hiding spot while no one is looking.” 

“Sounds like you’ve got yourself a cat cryptid,” Anakin laughs, scratching at the sides of Eggs’s face. Eggs loves this and aggressively headbutts Anakin’s hand. 

“He really seems to like you,” Obi-Wan is impressed. “Normally, he’s a bit grumpy with new people, but warms up after an hour or so. He really does like you.” 

“I’m honored,” Anakin murmurs as Eggs licks one of his fingers and abruptly turns tail and hops off the red table to the hardwood floor, claws clicking on the surface. 

“As you should be,” Obi-Wan jokes, and pulls the quiz folder out of his messenger bag. “Here you are.” 

“Thank you,” Anakin retrieves the folder from Obi-Wan’s outstretched hand. “This has been a really great night. I can’t remember the last time I took air hockey so seriously.” 

Obi-Wan laughs, and it’s captivating. 

“Me neither. Goodnight, Anakin.” Obi-Wan makes an awkward gesture that Anakin assumes is supposed to be a hug-and-handshake-combo offer. He accepts, and is treated to what he expects to be another brief but enticing hug without any of the no-homo handshake nonsense. He smells that spicy cologne again and it makes him ache wishing that there was no rule against what he wants. Wishing for a lot of things, really, and then there is no pull away. _What._ Anakin doesn’t fully register what’s happening until the unmistakable slow head tilt-- Obi-Wan tilts his head back out of the hug and then forward, forward, the small intake of breath demarcating Anakin’s realization swallowed up by the press of lips to lips. Anakin’s drunk senses narrow down to the point of contact and his stomach is tingly and his face is hot and Obi-Wan’s lips are so, _so_ fucking soft against his and yep. He’s going to hell. He’s going to hell and he’s never been happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'd like to sincerely apologize for the gap between updates-- riding the fine line between vague and too personal, the explanation is a cross-country move and a lack of job opportunities in my field leading me to job hop. i live w my fiancee now and let me fucking tell u it is no picnic to be a real ass adult without ur parents. i miss my mom like every fucking day. ANYWAY. I AM SO SORRY. and also eggs benedict is not based on a real cat but MARGOT IS ACTUALLY MY CAT, yes she is literally real i own her and she's exactly that shy. ENJOY and i promise i'll be back with more soon.


	5. we are too fragile just to guess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the first time, i could not for the life of me find a suitable quote for the chapter summary. so here's what you'll find ahead of you: padme loves fenty beauty and mean girls, aayla laughs at pining anakin, ahsoka wants to visit some ducks. vague yet enticing enough for you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait y'all, here is the other half of Cantina Night of Questionable Decisions
> 
> chapter title from fools by lauren aquilina

“We’re going to the Cantina, right?” Padmé turns to Ahsoka as soon as she closes the door after Anakin’s pitifully nervous exit. He’s on his way to his not-date date and they both know that the only thing worth doing tonight is following him to the bar. 

“I’m offended that you even had to ask.” Ahsoka grins. “Since we’re gonna do this thing, do you wanna do it right?” 

Padmé is unsure how to respond to this. 

“What do you mean?” She asks haltingly. Ahsoka, for a brief flash of a second, thinks about faux-casually tossing out the word “date” unironically. She stops herself by thinking about what her life would be like without Padmé in it, which would be the most likely outcome of that word choice. 

“I mean do you want to dress me up?” Ahsoka forces a smile and hopes it’s enough. It seems to do the trick, because Padmé’s whole face lights up. 

“Is it Christmas? Is it my birthday? Am I dreaming?” Padmé claps her hands to her face in earnest and Ahsoka’s chest tightens. 

“Aaaand I’ve reconsidered.” She jokes. Padmé smacks her arm. 

“No! You asked! YOU ASKED!” Padmé shrieks, throwing her arms around Ahsoka when she tries to walk away. 

“I’m just kidding, you can do whatever you want to me.” Ahsoka acquiesces, not caring how it sounds. 

“YES!” Padmé crows triumphantly and kisses Ahsoka’s cheek before letting go of her. Ahsoka wants to _fucking die_.“I’ve got a few new things from the mall that I think would look really good on you.” 

“Lead the way,” Ahsoka indicates the stairs to the upper rooms of the house and Padmé starts the climb up. Ahsoka presses her fingers to her cheek and it’s hot to the touch.

Padmé motions for Ahsoka to sit on her bed and she pauses before starting on her outfit choice.

“Anakin needed most of that last bottle for his nerves, so do you want some more wine?”

“Is that even a question?” Ahsoka nods. Padmé runs across the hall and grabs her wine glasses from Anakin’s room. It’s the same kind of wine, so she pours it without washing them. Ahsoka accepts the glass and clinks it against Padmé’s. 

“I remembered which one was mine, so don’t worry about germs.” Padmé says after she takes a sip. Ahsoka is not worried about germs in the slightest. She would freely welcome them from Padmé. She nods. 

“I don’t really know how to… wear clothes?” Ahsoka ventures. “I’m always at practice or in class and I tend to just wear athletic gear or a t-shirt and jeans. Or a sweatshirt or sweater and jeans. I don’t have an exciting wardrobe, trust me.” 

“I’ve hung out with you, like, once maybe,” Padmé teases, opening her closet. “I know you’re far too busy with the Rogue Squadron for fashion.” 

“It’s not that I’m uncomfortable with femininity or anything like that-- I’m good no matter how femme or un-femme I come across. I’m just always around other queer girls in sweats and muscle tanks-- no one cares about appearance at all when you’re in a sports sorority.” 

“I feel you,” Padmé nods absently as she surveys her clothes. “That’s why I’m excited that lil’ old me gets to give you the makeover you deserve.”

“It has been awhile since I’ve dealt with my eyebrows,” Ahsoka says by way of agreement. Padmé whirls around. “Yes, before you ask, you can pluck them and do whatever makeup you want on me.” Padmé claps, delighted. “You deserve the stress relief, anyway.” 

From her full class load as a Pre-Law and Political Science double major (Philosophy minor) to being president of Pre-Law Club and manager of the local frozen custard joint, Padmé needs any outlet for stress relief she can fucking get her hands on. 

“You know I don’t like to toot my own horn, but true. I’m two weeks out from having to defend my fake State of the Union address and I need to pluck your goddamn eyebrows.” 

“Pluck away!” Ahsoka wiggles said eyebrows and takes a sip of wine. Padmé grins. 

“I’m not sure what to do first-- clothes or face. Probably clothes. Then face. Hair?” She cocks her head at Ahsoka. 

“I mean, I’m not sure what you can do with my box braids but sure. Maybe you can figure out some cool up-do or something. If anyone can, it’s you.” 

Padmé looks mollified and turns back to her closet. 

“Clothes first, then face, then hair.” 

“Sounds reasonable to me.” 

Padmé starts up a strange but good indie playlist on her phone and starts throwing clothes at Ahsoka for her to try on. Most of the things aren’t something Ahsoka would usually think to wear, but somehow almost all of them look good on her. She finds herself unable to stop surveying her reflection in Padmé’s full length mirror when she tries on a wine-red crushed velvet dress. 

“I think we’ve found our winner.” 

“You think?” Ahsoka turns around in a full circle. Padmé can’t take her eyes off her. 

“Yeah.” 

Ahsoka smiles and Padmé mitigates both her racing heart and the want to be touching Ahsoka in this dress by clasping a choker around Ahsoka’s neck. It’s black velvet with a hanging silver charm inset with a red stone that matches the color of the dress. 

“I actually really like this.” Ahsoka touches the stone in the pendant and surveys her reflection yet again. 

“I feel like this will pair nicely with your shitkicking Docs, don’t you?” Padmé surveys her selection of clutch purses. 

“You read my mind,” Ahsoka starts. “But I don’t think I need a clutch, I can just put my wallet and phone in my tits.” 

Padmé looks exasperated but supposes reticently that it could work. 

“But now you really do have to let me pluck your eyebrows.” She adds. 

“Never said I wasn’t going to. I’m a woman of my word.” Ahsoka wiggles her eyebrows up and down. 

“Sit,” Padmé indicates her desk chair. Ahsoka complies. She’s not prepared for Padmé promptly sitting down on her lap, tweezers in hand. 

“What are you--” 

“The lighting is only good facing this way, now hush.” 

Padmé starts plucking. Ahsoka’s eyes only water once--damn, Padmé is good at this. Ahsoka concentrates desperately on the pain and not the warmth of Padmé literally in her lap. 

“So how’s derby been?” 

“Not bad at all. We got three new people out of last week’s “teach me how to skate” classes.” Ahsoka does her best to keep still as she answers. 

“Think they’ve got any talent, Cap?” Padmé teases her with her official roller derby title. It works, and Ahsoka’s face heats up. 

“Anyone can skate, but you gotta want it to be in derby. These three want it.” 

Padmé’s face flushes this time. 

“That’s awesome,” she says, finishing up Ahsoka’s brow before sliding back off her lap. “It’s makeup time, love. You ready?” 

“Hell yeah,” Ahsoka grins, and Padmé sets to work. 

“Now I did get this sample hoping it would match your skin…” Padmé holds her breath as she swipes a bit of that new Fenty Beauty foundation across Ahsoka’s cheek. A perfect match. She lets the breath out. Ahsoka opens her eyes. 

“Damn! I think I’m going to have to actually shell out for this one. Rihanna did good.” Ahsoka says upon seeing the shade match.

“Definitely. Close your eyes, I gotta blend you.” 

Ahsoka does, and zones out to the soft strains of the Decemberists and Padmé telling her what she’s doing as she brushes squishy things against Ahsoka’s skin. She decides that makeup is maybe worth the trouble, especially if Padmé really does enjoy doing it for her. 

“Do you do your brows black or dark brown?” Padmé asks, knowing that brows and mascara are really the only thing Ahsoka ever bothers with. 

“I get the darkest NYX pencil I can find, so I’m really not sure what color that is.” Ahsoka ventures timidly. Padmé sighs in fond exasperation and reaches for her Dipbrow. A song or two later, Padmé tells Ahsoka to open her eyes and look up for the water line. She doesn’t flinch when the pencil lands, and Padmé is suitably impressed by this. She carefully applies bright red matte liquid lipstick to Ahsoka’s full, gorgeous lips and sits back. 

“You’re done.” 

Ahsoka opens her eyes and they immediately well with tears. She’s taken aback by the person sitting across from her, who she almost doesn’t recognize. Her eyeshadow is burgundy and smoky, she’s wearing fake lashes somehow, her highlighter looks like crushed gold stardust, and her lips have been painted with excruciating care with red lipstick that looks like velvet. 

“Padmé… holy shit.” Ahsoka moves to touch her face, but in the mirror she sees Padmé instantly stop beaming where she stands behind her. She puts her hands down so she doesn’t ruin the makeup by touching it and opts instead to just turn her head from side to side, mouth open. “I’ve never looked like this in my entire life. I feel like I should be going to prom?” 

“Shut up,” Padmé beams again. “You’re just saying that.” 

“No, seriously.” Ahsoka has to will herself not to cry off this gorgeous makeup. “Thank you.” 

“It was my pleasure,” Padmé grips her shoulder and squeezes. “Honestly.” 

Ahsoka forces herself back into a light mood, out of this heavy, throat-clogging moment of emotion. 

“You ready?” she jokes, and Padmé looks mock-horrified. 

“I’m not even wearing concealer!” 

“Then get some on and let’s go!” Ahsoka laughs. 

\---

When they arrive at the Cantina, Padmé and Ahsoka grab seats at the bar, around its curve and just out of easy sight from Anakin and Obi-Wan. 

“I don’t think it really matters where we sit,” Ahsoka mutters to Padmé. “He can’t take his eyes off the prof, there’s no way he’ll notice us.” 

“I think you’re right. He really is fixated, isn’t he?”

Aayla the bartender approaches the two women and smiles broadly. 

“What’s up, nerds? What can I get ya?” 

“What’s up, fucker?” Ahsoka says by way of greeting. Clearly Aayla is either in her sorority or on the derby team, Padmé reasons. “I’ll get the first round. I’d love whatever IPA is on draft; what about you, Padmé?” 

“As long as you let me get the next round, I’d love a vodka cranberry.” 

“Deal,” Ahsoka nods. 

“Done and done,” Aayla gives them both the thumbs up and walks to the other end of the bar to grab their drinks. 

“Aayla’s a fucking awesome jammer,” Ahsoka explains. “And a jammer is--” 

“I know what a jammer is, oh my god.” Padmé smacks her lightly and giggles. “But I still have yet to see one of your matches. I’ve only ever seen practice and I want to see you kick some ass!” 

“We play against U of C next Wednesday, so quit your bitching and come see us.” Ahsoka smiles a little, still not used to the feeling of matte lipstick. 

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Could have saved yourself a lot of bitching.” Padmé continues teasing. 

“Because we were a little preoccupied with _someone_ trying to fuck his professor.” 

“I’d almost forgotten that’s why we’re here.” Padmé laughs as Aayla circles back around with their drinks. Ahsoka isn’t exactly sure what that’s supposed to mean. Both of them thank Aayla warmly and Ahsoka hands over her card to pay for the round. She tells Aayla to keep a tab open and then decides to be bold. 

“What do you mean?” Ahsoka asks Padmé, point blank. 

“Oh. I just… I mean, I’m having a really good time with you. We never get to do stuff like this! It’s always the three of us at the philosophy house or studying at the library or eating on campus or whatever. It’s cool, that’s our style as a friend group, but it’s nice to be able to just spend some time with you. I don’t know.” 

Ahsoka watches Padmé as she answers and notices her blinking a lot and twisting one of her curls around her finger as she leans on the bar. Is she.... nervous? 

“I like spending time with you too.” Ahsoka replies, heart hammering so hard that she feels it in her throat. They drink deeply and turn their attention to Anakin and Obi-Wan. 

“He looks like the prof’s got him fucked UP.” Ahsoka murmurs to Padmé after a few minutes. 

“I’ve never seen him like this.” Padmé nods and drinks more vodka cranberry, leaving a bright red lipstick print on the rim of the glass. They’re both straining to hear what’s going on down the bar without being too obvious, and they’re actually managing to pick up most of the conversation as long as they stay silent. Aayla wordlessly brings them another round once they finish the first, having clearly picked up on what they’re doing. Padmé hands over her card with an emphatic gesture of thanks. 

“They need to just fuckin’ go for it.” Aayla whispers. “It’s torture to watch, honestly. But very entertaining.” 

They all three share a quiet laugh at this. 

“I know, right?” Ahsoka replies. “And as I’m pretty much on an eternal mission to get all my friends laid, the stakes are high.” 

“There’s getting laid and then there’s… whatever this is.” Aayla ruminates. “There might be… feelings involved.” She fake gags. 

“Gross,” Padmé laughs. “But yeah, it does kind of look that way.” 

“And when alcohol and feelings combine…” Aayla starts, but trails off as Anakin and Obi-Wan get up from the bar and walk across the room to an air hockey table. “Apparently, you get air hockey. Welp, that’s repression for ya.” She slings a towel over her shoulder and shakes her head in amusement as she walks over to people just sitting down at the bar to greet them. 

Padmé and Ahsoka look on as Anakin and Obi-Wan begin a game. They look at each other and shake their heads before turning back around to the bar and their new round of drinks. They both take too-large sips of the drinks and sit in silence for what can’t be more than a minute before Ahsoka decides you know what, fuck it. “So... earlier. A few days ago. Whatever. When Anakin said “if only we were straight,” and you said you weren’t and I actually didn’t know that about you but I just… wanted you to uh. Know that neither am I? So don’t. Worry. I guess?” 

“First of all, you super didn’t have to tell me that, so thank you. I’m honored, honestly. And I was never worried, honey! I know you. You know me. We’re… friends and I know you care about me and to be really real, I thought you already knew.” 

“I didn’t, but it doesn’t change anything because I’m A) not a piece of garbage and B) also queer so.” 

“Totally,” Padmé nods. “Are you gay or bi? If that’s not too forward of a question.” She puts her hand on Ahsoka’s velvet-sleeved arm in concern that she’s gone too far. She can feel the heat of Ahsoka’s skin under the fabric. 

“I’m a lesbian, but not out to everyone. Just the team and sorority and you and Anakin. I’m not super public about it because it’s just not something I want to answer a million questions about all the time. If I were in a relationship I’m sure it’d be different because I’d for sure want to hold her hand on campus and all that good stuff, but yeah.” 

“That’s awesome,” Padmé beams. “I’m bi, and I know what you’re thinking. No, Anakin and I have never dated. We kissed once and it was just like Damian and Janis at the prom in Mean Girls. The _worst_.”

“Thank you so much for acknowledging that making Janis “straight” was such bullshit,” Ahsoka says after a sip of beer. “But I gotta say, I was curious. I kinda figured since you knew each other before you knew me and both came from Naboo that you’d at least been friends for awhile.” 

“Oh yeah,” Padmé waves her hand. “We’ve known each other since we were kids. Total happy coincidence that we ended up at the same college and an even happier coincidence that we met you.” 

Ahsoka smiles and ‘awwwwww’s; she can’t help it. Padmé may have given her a makeover, but she herself looks stunning as usual. Seeing her kind of actually glow in this lighting and hearing her talk so affectionately about meeting Ahsoka makes Ahsoka a little giddy. 

“So, okay. We pretty much can’t go over there and crash their date.” 

“Affirmative,” Padmé agrees and sips her drink. 

“So our options are: go to another bar or maybe Two Suns Brewing and see what’s up, go back to the house and see who’s around and maybe get some beer pong going, go on a walk around campus and see the ducks in the creek by the art building, or you have to come up with things now.” 

“Ducks first for a little break, then another bar?” Padmé suggests. 

“I’m down. Let’s do it!” Ahsoka agrees. 

They close out their tabs and start walking. They cross the main street of town and head into the footpaths of campus, laughing about how people were starting to crowd around Anakin and Obi-Wan’s game of air hockey. 

“And they never even knew we were there!” Padmé grips Ahsoka’s arm and shakes it. 

“Too fucking MUCH! White boys repressing their feelings with air hockey. And I thought I’d seen it all.” 

“Fuck, I know!” 

They reach the bridge over the small creek in front of the art building. The weeping willow tendrils dipping into the water part gently to reveal several ducks. They bob up and down and circle about, following each other aimlessly. Padmé presses her hands to her cheeks and grins. 

“I love them so much. I love them SO MUCH. Look at the ducklings!” 

“Damn, I didn’t know they got busy and had ducklings! That’s so fucking cute, holy shit.” Ahsoka is only half talking about the ducks. Padmé pulls out her phone and Snapchats the ducks to a few people. Ahsoka watches the way Padmé’s hair falls in front of her face and her dress hikes up as she bends forward slightly over the railing of the bridge. She’s knows she’s fucked. So absolutely fucking fucked. 

“That was worth the walk.” 

“It definitely was.” Ahsoka agrees, having almost completely forgotten about the ducks. Padmé straightens up to find Ahsoka quickly pretending to look anywhere else but at her. Padmé sends off the duck snap and Ahsoka feels her phone buzz where she stuffed it in her bra. 

“Why did you send that to me? I’m right next to you.” Ahsoka shakes her head, fondly exasperated. 

“I thought you might want to remember this.” Padmé says softly. 

“What? Why?” Ahsoka is genuinely confused. 

“I know you said that my being bi doesn’t change anything and all that, and I hope you know that I feel the same way about you being gay.” Padmé pauses, stepping a little closer to Ahsoka, and Ahsoka can literally feel her pulse in her fingertips. “But… um… what if. I wanted it to change something?” She finishes sheepishly. 

Ahsoka is rooted to the spot in shock. 

“You want it to…” Ahsoka says, drawn out as if she’s hearing someone else speak. 

“You know what I mean! Can I just fucking kiss you or are you going to make me keep going on--” 

Ahsoka doesn’t let Padmé finish, closing the distance between them with pure adrenaline. Padmé throws her arms around Ahsoka’s neck and kisses her with all the concentrated willpower of two vodka cranberries. Ahsoka lifts Padmé up with arms around her waist and they kiss again, and again, and again.

“I put the same lipstick on,” Padmé beams at Ahsoka when she lowers her to the ground. “So if we kissed the colors wouldn’t mix badly.” 

“You DID NOT,” Ahsoka laughs with her whole body, still unwilling to let go of Padmé, still unsure if this is really happening. 

“It was a total whim but… as the night went on, seeing you in that lipstick made me think it might not be so crazy to, um,” Padmé leans up and kisses Ahsoka again. “Do… that.” 

“You were right,” Ahsoka grins and picks Padmé up again, beginning to twirl her around. Padmé laughs and holds onto Ahsoka tightly. 

“Right about what?!” Padmé shrieks as Ahsoka spins her around again and brings her back down to eye level.

“That I’d want to remember this.” Ahsoka kisses her again, in the glow of the street lamps and partially sheltered by a weeping willow, and knows she will never be able to forget how this feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again riding that tightrope of vague and too personal: got a job in my field, got married, holidayzz, all that good stuff. so so so so so sorry for the wait and i promise you all that there is more of this fic coming. i will not leave y'all hanging. thank you SO much for being patient with me and i love you all and happy new year! 
> 
> (yes, the lipstick is stunna by rihanna. i'm not saying i own it. but. i own it. and i've worn it every day for like a month.)


	6. watch you weigh your powers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You mean if it’s just this once,” Obi-Wan muses. “That’s a thought. Is this what you students call ‘hitting it and quitting it?’”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> awwwww yeeeeeee this chapter is profoundly NSFW!! also chapter title is from sextape by deftones.

“Fuck,” Obi-Wan breathes against Anakin’s lips. Anakin likely sees that as an invitation and crushes their mouths together again, this time kissing him harder. Obi-Wan bites Anakin’s lower lip gently and Anakin’s arms reflexively tighten around him. They make out like teenagers, right there in the middle of Obi-Wan’s dining room, until Anakin gently shuffles them backwards to the couch and Obi-Wan lets himself be led along. They collapse back into the soft cushions and it’s then, seeing Anakin beneath him, flushed and wanting, that Obi-Wan’s brain kicks in. 

“I’m your professor,” He blurts out, kneeling over Anakin.

“Y...eah?” Anakin eases himself up onto his elbows. “Does that have anything to do with how bad we both want this?” 

Obi-Wan has the brief, fleeting thought that ‘how bad’ is grammatically incorrect, and it strengthens his resolve enough to push himself up so that he’s not touching Anakin anymore. 

“I… yes. We can’t do this.” 

“Okay,” Anakin takes a deep breath. “Um. Why?” 

“I’m your professor,” Obi-Wan says, pulling himself even further back until he’s just plain sitting on the couch, feet on the floor. He’s still wearing shoes, for fuck’s sake. Anakin sits up too, and runs a hand through his disheveled hair. 

“You said as much.” Anakin nods. 

“It’s not right. I’m not only your professor; I’m your thesis advisor. If anyone finds out about this, at the _very_ least we will have to contend with the question of fair grading. At worst, they’ll make an example out of me and a martyr out of you.” Obi-Wan watches for changes in Anakin’s face as he speaks, but Anakin takes it stoically. 

“Maybe I want to be a martyr.” 

“Anakin, be reasonable.” 

“ _You_ be reasonable. Besides, no one has to know.” Anakin retorts. 

“You mean if it’s just this once,” Obi-Wan muses. “That’s a thought. Is this what you students call ‘hitting it and quitting it?’” 

“Oh my god, I cannot believe you actually literally for real said that, but I guess? Basically what I’m saying is as of tomorrow, this never happened. We can go back to grading papers and grabbing drinks as colleagues or whatever as soon as you kick me out tomorrow morning.” Anakin laughs harshly as his hands grip the couch hard on either side of where he sits. 

“I’d at least make you breakfast,” Obi-Wan muses softly, eyes focused on the coffee table and mind somewhere else entirely. His thoughts focus first on the inevitable review board hearing he’s going to have to sit through, then on Anakin’s adam’s apple as he swallows, then on the painfully soft way Anakin had looked at him in the half-light after that first gentle kiss.

“So… is that a yes?” Anakin asks suggestively.

“We’re really doing this? Acting like nothing happened tomorrow morning?”

“It works in all the sitcoms.” Anakin grins.

“Does it, though?” Obi-Wan muses, but reaches for Anakin all the same. 

“Shut up and kiss me,” Anakin pulls Obi-Wan back on top of him. Obi-Wan obliges, stealing Anakin’s breath with a filthy kiss. Anakin reaches up and runs his fingers through Obi-Wan’s hair as they kiss and shift against each other. Obi-Wan pushes his leg between Anakin’s and elicits a sharp intake of breath. Anakin presses his hips up against Obi-Wan’s leg as he sneaks his hands up inside Obi-Wan’s sweater and drags his hands across every inch of skin he can. Obi-Wan kisses his way down to Anakin’s neck and sucks the skin there between his teeth gently. Anakin instantly cranes his head in the other direction to give him better access and Obi-Wan can feel how hard Anakin is against his leg. He decides to test his luck by sucking harder. 

“Mmmmhh, you’re going to leave a mark,” Anakin doesn’t stop him, though. Obi-Wan gives his neck a last nip before pulling back. 

“Oh. I… my apologies.” The mark is red-purple just where Anakin’s shoulder meets his neck. 

“Whatever, fuck it, that’s for future me to deal with. Come back here.” 

“Demanding, aren’t you? What if we move to the bedroom and, I don’t know, take off our shoes?” 

“But that would involve not having you on top of me.” 

“Only for a short time. Come on,” Obi-Wan pushes himself up to a kneeling, then standing position, and starts slipping off his shoes. Anakin sighs exaggeratedly and sits up to do the same. Once they have their shoes off, Obi-Wan motions to the hallway leading back to the other rooms of the flat. There’s a dramatic skittering noise as they approach the bedroom and Anakin stops when he hears it. 

“No need for concern, I’m sure that was Margot running to make it under the bed before we see her.” 

“Oh,” Anakin laughs. “Yeah, that threw me for a second.” 

Obi-Wan opens the door and sure enough, there is a fluffy white tail sticking out from under the bedskirt. 

“She thinks she’s hidden,” Obi-Wan smiles. Anakin smiles back, a reflex action.

“I love when cats do that.” 

“Margot does this all the time. Watch what happens when I catch her not hiding.” Obi-Wan gently gets down on his knees and sticks his arms under the bed slowly to surround the not-so-subtle cat. He encircles her and pulls her out from under the bed to scoop her up in his arms. She’s pure white with huge, nervous blue eyes. She meows frantically and tries to get out of Obi-Wan’s gentle hold until he starts petting her belly. She relaxes instantly and starts making those little kneading motions as if she’s making bread into the air. She purrs gently and Anakin puts his hands up to his face because he just cannot handle how cute they’re both being. 

“I’m going to die. This is so cute I genuinely think I might expire.” 

“Well, don’t do that. Do you want to pet her?” Obi-Wan offers Anakin an armful of fluff. 

“Do you think she’d mind?” Anakin looks so concerned that Obi-Wan wants to hold both of them. 

“Just stick to the head and face for now and I think she’ll maybe even enjoy it.” He teases a little. 

Anakin solemnly and with great concentration kneels down quietly, reaching out for Margot’s little face. She immediately rubs her wet pink nose against his hand when it gets close enough and purrs with abandon. Anakin breathes out sharply and Obi-Wan just watches the way he strokes the sides of her face with gentle reverence, feeling absurdly fond. Anakin’s whole face lights up as he turns to Obi-Wan. 

“She likes it!” 

“She likes you,” Obi-Wan laughs. “She doesn’t necessarily accept this from everyone.” 

This obviously delights Anakin to the point of giddiness and Margot suddenly decides she wants to roll over in Obi-Wan’s arms to let them both know that the pets were sufficient but now no longer necessary. Obi-Wan lets her go and she slinks out into the living room to do… whatever it is that cats do. 

“I love her,” Anakin watches her go, transfixed. 

“It’s hard not to,” Obi-Wan responds, deeply amused. 

“She’s a good one,” Anakin says, turning his attention back to Obi-Wan. “You’re not too bad yourself.” 

“I try,” Obi-Wan says, bringing his arms around Anakin to pull him in again. Anakin is pliant and warm and Obi-Wan bites his lower lip just to hear him make that sighing sound again. He can’t control it and shivers a little against Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan pulls back. 

“Should we take off our shoes?”  
“Why stop there,” Anakin smirks and pulls his sweater off in one smooth motion as Obi-Wan removes his blazer. He is in _very_ good shape, much more so than Obi-Wan would have thought. 

“You know what the worst part is,” Anakin grins like an idiot as he takes off his shoes. “I eat like shit.” 

“And you still…” Obi-Wan gestures to him and shakes his head, at a loss for words. “Damn.” 

Anakin walks back toward him after taking off his shoes and slides his hands up the thin sweater that Obi-Wan has yet to take off. He kisses Obi-Wan deeply but briefly and pulls the sweater up from the bottom hem. Obi-Wan obliges and lets him take it off to throw it on the floor, but that’s all he allows. He pushes Anakin back so that he falls back onto the bed. It’s a cushy queen size memory foam mattress; Anakin makes a noise of approval and squishes the mattress with his hand a little before Obi-Wan is on top of him, pulling his head to the side with a hand in his hair and kissing and biting up his neck. 

“I’d very much enjoy just taking you apart with my mouth,” Obi-Wan muses before he kisses Anakin, and Anakin gasps a little into his mouth and unconsciously seeks pressure from where Obi-Wan’s leg is pressed against him. 

“You can’t just _say_ things like that, it’s not fair…” Anakin huffs as Obi-Wan kisses back down the other side of his neck and down his chest. 

“Why not? It’s true.” And Obi-Wan sucks at Anakin’s collarbone, working what he hopes is going to be a beautiful bruise into the skin there. 

“Fucking HELL,” Anakin hisses and one of his hands grips the sheets tightly while the other hand’s nails sink into Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Obi-Wan moves his mouth down and takes his time arbitrarily sucking marks into Anakin’s chest, enjoying the noises and visceral pleasure reactions he’s causing. He continues moving down and biting here and there, until he finds the little trail of hair that leads from Anakin’s belly button into his jeans. He unbuttons the fly button and looks up at Anakin.

“Do you want me to...?” Obi-Wan asks, voice low. Anakin is propped up on his elbows, red in the face and looking like he’s never wanted anything more in his life. 

“Yes, please.” Anakin says hoarsely. 

Obi-Wan smiles as he lays down on his stomach and unzips Anakin’s jeans. He pulls them and a very soft pair of boxer briefs down. Anakin’s cock is hard and leaking and Obi-Wan wastes no time getting to work. He makes his tongue flat and sucks the tip into his mouth, then slightly further down the shaft. For a brief moment, he wonders if he can get his mouth all the way down, but decides to try it anyway. A moan absolutely rips itself out of Anakin’s mouth as Obi-Wan deepthroats him. Obi-Wan pulls back and starts sucking in earnest, creating a seal with his mouth and leveraging suction as he bobs his head. Anakin’s hands are clenched so hard into the blankets that the fabric is twisting and he’s shaking hard underneath Obi-Wan’s hands on his hips. 

“I’m not gonna last that long,” Anakin manages, sounding desperate. Obi-Wan pulls off and pushes himself up on his elbows a bit. 

“Do you want to come?” 

“YES, Jesus, yes, but I thought maybe we could, um… you could fuck me?” 

Obi-Wan’s face instantly flushes hot. 

“Oh,” He manages, painfully aware of how hard he is. “I would. Ah. _Definitely_ be amenable to that.” 

“How do you use words with that many syllables at a time like this?” Anakin sits up, laughing, and starts taking off his pants. Obi-Wan stands back up and takes his off as well.

“Just my nature, I suppose,” Obi-Wan ducks his head, sheepish. 

“Get your pants off and get over here.” 

“So demanding,” Obi-Wan teases. He removes all his clothing and tries not to think about how closely Anakin is watching him. 

“Fuck,” Anakin breathes in what is unmistakably admiration. It’s awfully ironic coming from him, laying back into Obi-Wan’s pillows like a casual Bernini statue. 

“You’re so hot.” Obi-Wan can feel the blush start where his neck meets his chest and flash upward in a hot sear of embarrassment. 

“For a professor.” 

“No,” Anakin shifts and starts crawling toward him, and that’s maybe the hottest fucking thing Obi-Wan has ever seen. “Full stop.” Anakin says as he bends his head down and takes Obi-Wan into his mouth. Obi-Wan’s knees instantly feel unstable and he grabs onto the bedpost nearest him as Anakin does something with his tongue that Obi-Wan can’t even fully comprehend. Anakin sucks him earnestly for about a minute before taking the plunge and trying to deepthroat him. He coughs a little but eases his mouth down, down, and _fuck_. It’s so hot and wet and perfect that Obi-Wan fists a hand into Anakin’s hair and pulls his head back agonizingly slowly. As soon as Anakin pulls his mouth off Obi-Wan’s cock, he goes right back to it, this time deepthroating him with less preamble. Obi-Wan’s hands tighten in his hair and Anakin moans around him, trying to take him deeper. Obi-Wan looks down at this incredibly hot situation and an idea occurs to him.

“Do you want me to fuck your mouth?” He asks, and Anakin pulls back abruptly. 

“ _Please_ ,” Anakin gasps, lips shiny and voice raw. Obi-Wan obliges, pushing back into Anakin’s pliant mouth and holding him by the back of the head. Anakin easily takes it as he fucks into his mouth slowly and pulls Obi-Wan’s leg toward him, indicating that he should go faster and harder. He does, and Anakin gags and chokes, but keeps pulling at Obi-Wan’s leg, assuring him that this is what he wants. It feels like nothing he’s ever felt before, and he wonders how this could possibly be as good for Anakin as it is for him. Anakin moans around Obi-Wan’s cock and Obi-Wan has to step back as the vibration of the sound makes him think he might come before they have a chance to really enjoy this. He sees why Anakin moaned-- Anakin has his hand clenched tight around the base of his cock to keep from coming himself.

“That-- you’re incredible.” Obi-Wan pants and finally removes his hand from the bedpost. 

“I could say the same about you,” Anakin grins. “I loved that.” 

“You’re insatiable,” Obi-Wan smiles back and motions for Anakin to lay back against the pillows. Anakin obliges while Obi-Wan opens his nightstand drawer and grabs lube and a condom. “Are you ready? Because I’d be more than happy to use my mouth again if this is too much.” 

“I’m so ready. I don’t think anything has ever sounded more appealing than getting fucked does right now.” Anakin smiles as Obi-Wan climbs back onto the bed. 

“Excellent. Let me get you ready,” Obi-Wan goes back to laying on his stomach and lazily sucks on the head of Anakin’s cock while he pours lube into his hand. He takes a slick finger and teases Anakin with it, not quite pressing it inside him.

“Please,” Anakin gasps. 

“Well, because you asked so nicely,” Obi-Wan quips as he slides his finger slowly into Anakin. He works it in gently and Anakin hisses out a few deep breaths. He sucks Anakin as he pushes and pulls his finger in and out, and Anakin moans for another finger. Obi-Wan gives him what he wants, and Anakin moans loudly when he pushes it in. 

“Please, oh my god!” Anakin tries to push himself down onto Obi-Wan’s fingers. Obi-Wan crooks his fingers just a little and Anakin cries out involuntarily, leaking a little, as Obi-Wan knows he found what he was looking for. 

“Please fuck me,” Anakin begs after a few moments of Obi-Wan using two fingers. “I can’t fucking stand it, please fuck me.” 

“I think I can manage that,” Obi-Wan pushes himself up until he’s kneeling and tears the condom open to roll it on himself. He applies a liberal amount of lube and crawls up so that he can kiss Anakin again. “Hi,” He smiles down at flushed, needy Anakin, and kisses him with abandon. 

“You’re driving me crazy,” Anakin complains when they break apart. “Please fuck me.”

“Tell me if it hurts or if you want me to stop or do something differently, okay?” Obi-Wan asks. 

“Yeah, I will, just, please--” And Anakin stops mid-sentence as Obi-Wan lines himself up and pushes in. Obi-Wan knows he has to go slow, but it’s absolute torture. Anakin is so fucking tight. Anakin claws at Obi-Wan’s shoulders, breathless. “Fuck,” Anakin exhales a curse. “It’s so good, Obi-Wan, you feel so good.” 

“Are you okay for me to move?” 

“More than okay,” Anakin nods furiously, and Obi-Wan kisses him as he fucks into him slowly, gently, but definitely a back and forth motion. Anakin does the same thing he had done where he pulled at Obi-Wan earlier, but this time he pulls at his shoulders to make him go faster. 

Obi-Wan does, and Anakin clearly can’t stop the soft noises he’s making. Obi-Wan fucks him in earnest and reaches to stroke Anakin as well. 

“Harder,” Anakin moans as Obi-Wan closes his hand around his cock.

“I won’t last much longer if I go harder,” Obi-Wan gasps out. 

“I won’t either, please, I need it!” Anakin moans, and Obi-Wan does what he asked for and fucks him harder, pounding into him. Anakin tightens around him and can’t stop moaning and saying ‘please’ and ‘yes’ over and over again, and Obi-Wan stops stroking him. He takes that hand and tangles it into Anakin’s hair, pulling his head so his neck is exposed, and sucks hard at the skin there. Anakin’s cock is pressed between their stomachs and he comes all over both of them, tendons of his neck snapping taut and warm wetness spreading between them as he clenches around Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan knows he doesn’t stand a chance and groans roughly into Anakin’s neck as he comes inside him. They lay like that for a moment, breathing hard, and then Obi-Wan raises his head and kisses Anakin deeply, making a contented noise in the back of his throat. 

“Fuck, that was so fucking good,” Anakin looks up at him, face flushed and smiling. Obi-Wan feels terribly fucking fond in that moment, a tenderness that creeps its way into goosebumps down his arms. 

“Absolutely,” He says and can’t help kissing Anakin again. His lips are pliant and relaxed against Obi-Wan’s and they kiss lazily for a few moments until Obi-Wan manages to tear himself away. Anakin makes a whiny noise as Obi-Wan pulls out and sits up. 

“Come back,” Anakin says sleepily. 

“I will, hold on,” Obi-Wan heads into the bathroom to clean himself up and brings back a washcloth for Anakin when he emerges. Anakin is already asleep on top of all the covers, so Obi-Wan cleans him up and manages to extract the covers from under him to place over him. Anakin looks perfectly at home wrapped up in Obi-Wan’s soft duvet, curls falling across his face in the dim light, and Obi-Wan has to remind himself that it’s breakfast tomorrow and then back to normal. Will they be able to go back to normal?

He turns the light out and lays down next to Anakin. After a few moments, Anakin turns in his sleep and slings an arm across Obi-Wan’s chest. Obi-Wan allows himself a moment of weakness and pulls Anakin in so that his head rests on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Obi-Wan lays awake for what feels like more than half an hour, much more than his exhaustion usually grants him, until he feels a movement by his feet. Margot looks at him like a ghost in the dark for a long moment before she curls up so her head rests on one of Obi-Wan’s legs and her tail drapes across one of Anakin’s. Obi-Wan falls asleep to the sound of Anakin’s breathing and Margot’s purring. 

He doesn’t dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> margot is actually my cat and she has an [instagram](https://instagram.com/nervousmargot) if anyone's interested! 
> 
> additionally, i have a [spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/hyjl8fpsvgran5l4vlvrnlcf2/playlist/3kP7nyAT5sHPfdKxgsoe5Z?si=HBIlJynORvqIRNaHi1eFBw) of songs i've listened to/named chapters after while writing this fic. i'll probably add to it, but enjoy! 
> 
> did you enjoy reading this? it would mean the absolute world to me as a broke human if you'd consider buying me a [coffee](https://Ko-fi.com/anpaesh).


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